


jump and i'm jumping, since there is no me without you

by imadetheline



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Angst, Crusades, Developing Relationship, Enemies to Lovers, Established Relationship, Fluff, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Immortal Husbands, M/M, Pre-Slash, Temporary Character Death, cause you know, rated t cause im paranoid, the violence isn't super graphic but there are a lot of mentions of blood and death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-30
Updated: 2020-08-09
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:34:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25615195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imadetheline/pseuds/imadetheline
Summary: 5 times Joe takes a long time to wake up + 1 time he doesn't
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Comments: 100
Kudos: 526





	1. the self is not so weightless nor whole and unbroken

**Author's Note:**

> I just love these two so much. Work and chapter titles taken from the song Achilles Come Down by Gang of Youths. It's such a beautiful song. I highly recommend it. Anyway, hope you guys like it!

1099 CE

The fighting has not stopped. It will not stop. Not for him. Or for his undying opponent. The battle has moved on, closer to the walls of the city. Bodies litter the ground. He is hard pressed to put his foot down without stepping on someone he knew or killed. 

And yet their swords clash together. Again. And again.

He has died many, many times. He had been keeping count, but after the 20th time he found he didn’t really care. What did the number matter? There was no sign of his enemy dying anytime soon. He was locked in an eternal battle. And he was tired already. 

But he kept pushing, slashing at this man who would not die. He had thought, the first time he died, that maybe once his enemy was dead he could die himself. Or at least leave this field of death. So he had struck hard and fast, angry that this man kept him from resting. He had soon found, however, that neither his rage nor his blows accomplished anything.

Now, he is just tired. Sweat drips down his brow, mixing with blood as it clouds his vision, no time nor energy to wipe it away. His blows are mechanical, nothing to fuel him. His opponent seems to feel the same way. The man’s curls are matted with blood; they are both coated in it. His lips are down-turned and his eyes are empty of emotion as he thrusts forward with his scimitar. Nicoló steps aside and strikes back, equally empty. Apparently death takes its toll, even on immortals.

His sword swings in an arc for the man’s side. The man doesn’t move to block it. Instead his lips twitch upwards. Nicoló doesn’t have time to process. His eyes just widen as his blade meets its target. His enemy falls with the new blood almost indistinguishable from the old. 

For a moment, there is nothing. Nothing left. What is he without this man? Was there a time before he fought him? He’s no longer sure of anything. 

His sword slips from his fingers, slick with blood. It makes a dull clang as it hits rock and dust, but Nicoló is beyond caring about the state of his weapon. He collapses to his knees, oblivious to the pain that shoots through his body upon impact with the unforgiving ground. The man will rise soon but he doesn’t care. He takes this brief respite to scan his surroundings. In battle, they had blurred to yellow and red and brown. He finds that not much has changed. 

He can still hear the sounds of fighting in the distance, but it is only a ringing in his ears. The sky is blue, blue, blue and the sun is high in the sky, looking down on their fight, a witness to their vicious conflict. The once brown soil and yellow sand is stained red, where it can still be seen between bodies. 

Bodies as far as the eye can see. So much death. And for what? For his God who has seen fit to curse him? He doesn’t know anymore. He looks down at his hands, stained as red as the soil.

The sun continues to shine. His skin is burning. Everything is hazy. He fixes his gaze on the man he’s just killed. The only thing that’s not blurring together. He hasn’t moved. Shouldn’t he be awake by now? Nicoló sighs. He doesn’t know the answer to that either. Maybe his foe’s truly dead. Maybe his nightmare is over. 

It doesn’t feel like it though. 

He doesn’t know how long he’s battled against this opponent, swords clashing through the night and day. How many times he’s died just to wake again. How many times he’s killed his enemy just for him to rise again, his foe a dark angel rising from the Earth to smite him once again. Nicoló’s world has revolved around this man since he took another breath after death. If it’s truly over what does he do now?

He doesn’t have to think too long on that, for at that moment, the man sucks in a breath and pushes himself up. Nicoló makes no move to pick up his sword, just watches as the man reaches for his own weapon and stands, so he’s towering over Nicoló. He doesn’t think he could move if he tried, even as the man takes the opportunity to return the favor Nicoló had granted him earlier, burying his scimitar in Nicoló’s chest. 

Nicoló glances down as the man pulls his scimitar out with a squelching sound and blood rushes to take its place. There is more red and more pain, but it’s a familiar sensation. Nicoló glances up to see the man’s face. He isn’t smiling, even though he’s gotten his revenge once again on the man who dared attack his city. 

Maybe that is why Nicoló gathers the energy to gesture to himself and whisper “Nicoló.” or maybe it’s exhaustion or maybe, just maybe, it’s because he knows the man understands. His vision is starting to fade as his hand drops back to his side. 

The sea of red all around him is tinted grey and the man’s face is blurry, but he thinks he sees him smile as he says, “Yusuf.” 

The black creeps in and the pain fades but Nicoló grins. Yusuf. Maybe this is the end of his nightmare after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have the second chapter already written so that should be up soon :)


	2. hurt and grieve but don't suffer alone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn’t use Italian in this one because it wasn’t a language at this time and I’m not quite sure what Nicky would have spoken and I don’t know of a translator for the possible languages he might have spoken. Also most of their dialogue is in english and not Arabic because I felt it was easier to comprehend the story that way. All Arabic is taken from google translate so sorry for any errors. Translations at the bottom. Bonus points if you can spot the Hannibal reference lol. Hope you like it :)

1101 CE

It’s a simple job. Protect the caravans and get paid a sizable sum for their trouble. In fact, it’s quite boring. They’re either plodding along beside the wagons under the scorching sun or taking turns keeping watch in the freezing cold while everyone else sleeps. The only saving grace is sharing conversations with Yusuf. After a year spent traveling together, they are no longer left glaring in silence. Instead they had formed a shaky truce which transformed, much to Nicoló’s surprise, into a most effective partnership.

Silence had turned to gestures and facial expressions. Nicoló found himself trying to hide a smile when Yusuf dramatically acted out bathing for half an hour before realizing Nicoló already understood, but was greatly enjoying the show. Yusuf had stormed away to the nearby river by himself after that. But Nicoló hadn’t been worried. He’d seen the smile tugging at Yusuf’s lips before he had turned away. 

Then it became gestures with words. Repeated in differing accents multiple times until the other smiled and nodded. Nicoló discovered he quite likes Yusuf’s smile. 

Then they could hold halting conversations. He quickly found that Yusuf had a gift with words. He was especially proficient at using them to make Nicoló laugh. Whether it was comments muttered about their current employers or deciding to wax poetically about a rock on the side of the road, he used every opportunity to put a smile on Nicoló’s lips. 

At first, Nicoló had been conflicted about sharing smiles and jokes with his former enemy. But as the months wore on he found it harder and harder to see Yusuf that way. Yusuf who thought Nicoló didn’t see him sketching in the dirt on long nights. Yusuf who smiled when he made Nicoló laugh. Yusuf who prayed every day without fail with such devotion in his eyes that Nicoló knew their fighting had been wrong. No, Yusuf is not his enemy. Nicoló isn’t sure what he is but he knows that at least.

He has not fully realized it however, until Yusuf dies. Again.

They come in the night. Thieves, their sights set on the goods Yusuf and Nicoló had been paid to protect. It’s Yusuf’s watch, but Nicoló finds he cannot sleep. The rocks insist on digging into his back and the moon is too bright and there is dust in his lungs and Yusuf is awake. And so he pushes off his blanket and silently makes his way to the fire. He sits across from Yusuf, who is only a shadowy form in the scant light of the coals, the flames dancing across his face. Yusuf does not acknowledge him, but Nicoló knows he is aware of his travelling companion joining him. Still he does not stop his sketching in the dirt. 

Nicoló can’t make out the image but he also discovers he doesn’t quite care, not when he can see the lines on Yusuf’s forehead and the scrunch of his nose as he concentrates and the flames reflected in his dark eyes. Almost as if Yusuf had sensed his thoughts he looks up and smiles wide. Nicoló feels his cheeks heat from embarrassment and finds he is suddenly grateful for the lack of light. Yusuf apparently can perceive his discomfort anyway for he sets down the stick he had been drawing with and shifts closer, starting to speak, “Nicoló-”

And then there is an arrow buried in his chest. 

Time stops.

Yusuf looks down at the arrow and smirks as if to say ‘Huh, that’s new.’ There is no sound except a ringing in Nicoló’s ears. Then suddenly Yusuf is coughing and there is blood and he is no longer sitting but lying slumped on the ground, blood so dark it looks black in the moonlight pooling beneath him and spreading across the parched ground.

Then everything comes rushing back. A white hot flame ignites in Nicoló’s chest. His sword is in his hands before he registers it, its weight familiar in his hands. The men had moved closer in the few seconds Nicoló had been distracted. He quickly stamps out the flames. The fire in his eyes is enough. He can make out seven forms in the light of the moon. 

They are dead men walking. 

Three of them don’t even realize he’s there until their heads leave their bodies. The other four go down easily enough. Nicoló walks away with no more than a scratch on his arm where a knife had grazed him. It is already healing, leaving only flaking blood in its place. He can’t help but think, as he almost runs back to Yusuf, blood dripping from his tunic, that he deserved worse. He had distracted Yusuf. This is certainly his fault, somehow.

But he decides that thought is for another time as he calls out in his limited Arabic, “Yusuf ‘ayn ‘ant” hoping for a swift response so he can busy himself with cleaning the blood from his skin. He receives no answer. The fading anger in his eyes is quickly replaced by rising panic. Had he missed one? Have they taken him? He cannot spend an eternity alone.

He drops his sword where he had been sitting earlier, when there wasn’t this fear in his heart. He can make out Yusuf’s body, laying still, where he had fallen. He can feel the fear choking him as he falls to his knees, not caring for the blood that seeps into his pants, except for the fact that it should be inside Yusuf, not tainting the dust a sickly brown. He wrenches the arrow from Yusuf’s chest, the sound of tearing flesh a familiar and unwanted reminder of a similar time wrought by his hand. Before he realized he didn’t like how empty Yusuf’s eyes were in death.

He pulls Yusuf’s head to his lap. His normally full curls are drenched in his own lifeblood, his face is still, so similar to sleep, yet so different, as if it is a mockery. Nicoló has watched him sleep enough to know. 

Why isn’t he awake? He should be awake. Nicoló leans closer, his breath ghosting over Yusuf’s still cheeks. “Don’t you dare leave me. Not now. I could not take it.” He pushes away all thought except for Yusuf and presses his lips to Yusuf’s forehead.

He pulls back just as Yusuf gasps out a breath, his chest rising and falling heavily as his body stitches itself back together, an altogether painful experience. Nicoló cups Yusuf’s cheeks with his rough, blood soaked hands and presses his forehead to his friend’s. For he realizes, that is what they are. 

He pulls away once more to look into Yusuf’s now bright eyes. They are a little confused, but crinkles are appearing at the corners of his eyes as he begins to smile. Nicoló has the sudden urge to kiss them, but he drops his hands and leans back on his heels. He thinks he catches a flash of disappointment on Yusuf’s face but it is gone too fast to be sure.

Then Yusuf is grinning wide, his bearded cheeks tugging upwards as he sits up. He looks Nicoló up and down and then chuckles. “You’re a mess.”

Nicoló scoffs and shoves Yusuf’s shoulder. “Look at yourself. You’re the one that died.” He laughs as Yusuf rubs his shoulder where Nicoló hit him and pouts. “Oh shut up,” he rolls his eyes and moves to stand and retrieve his sword.

He is interrupted by a quiet “Hey.” He turns on his heel to find a sobered Yusuf looking sheepish. “shakar.”

Nicoló smiles, his eyes softening. “dayimaan,” he says and quickly turns away before he can say something stupid. He has found a companion, a friend, in this man. This man who is so much more than he could ever have imagined when he first saw the life drain from his eyes. He’s not sure where they go from here but he knows they will go together. He will not accept anything less. 

For now, he can see their employers starting to rise in their camp a few meters away and he definitely needs to bathe. The sun begins to rise over the golden hills and he thinks it looks a little like Yusuf’s smile, if not as blindingly bright and beautiful. It's not until hours later as he walks beside Yusuf that he realizes he hadn't even remembered the cargo he had been paid to protect when he killed those men. There had only been Yusuf.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations from Arabic:  
> ‘ayn ‘ant = where are you?  
> Shakar = thank you  
> Dayimaan = always


	3. and there may not be meaning so find one and seize it

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i stayed up till three am writing this because I wanted to get it to you guys so I'm sorry for any historical inaccuracies. I did minimal research. Google translate was used for the Arabic so sorry for any errors, Translations at the end. Also this is the longest chapter I've ever written so i'm pretty proud of that. Hope you guys like it!

1106 CE

Nicoló is grateful for the brief respite from travelling. He and Yusuf have been wandering and picking up odd jobs where they can find them. He barely remembers the feel of a thick blanket or what tunics not covered in dust feel like against his skin. It’s been a long time since they stayed in a city.

They’ve earned enough money to stay the week in Constantinople on their way west, in nicer accommodations than Nicoló had expected. As they pay and enter he can tell Yusuf is relieved at the break from the sun beating down on their skin all day as much as he is from the quiet sigh he releases and the small smile that graces his face. Their room is small but it contains two sleeping mats on opposite walls and a wide window to watch the bustle of the city. 

Yusuf immediately throws down his bundle of traveling clothes and brushes past Nicoló, his hand grazing Nicoló’s arm, and takes quick strides to the window before flinging it wide. Nicoló shivers. From the fresh air or the slight touch, he can’t tell. The touches and brushes of hands have been happening more and more recently. Nicoló isn’t sure what to make of them but he knows he doesn’t want them to stop.

The sounds from the street echo faintly in the distance. The sun has set and left in its wake the cool breeze of dusk which floats peacefully into their room and ruffles Yusuf’s curls where he stands, hands on the sill, eyes closed. Nicoló can’t pull his eyes away. He thinks if he could, he’d stand here forever, gazing at Yusuf, frozen in peace.

He may be immortal, but even he cannot freeze time.

And so Yusuf turns, smiling wider than Nicoló has seen in some time, proof that the road has taken its toll on them both. Nicoló can’t help but smile softly as he turns away and begins to unpack his meager belongings he’s collected over the seven years they’ve traveled together. He hears Yusuf begin to do the same somewhere behind him. 

It doesn’t take long. Neither of them own much besides a few changes of clothes, their weapons, water skins, and a blanket for sleeping on out in the desert. Soon, Nicoló is settling in to sleep. It’s still fairly early, just after eight, but it’s been a long day and he’s ready to sleep in relative safety for the first time in months. Still, he makes sure to tuck a dagger at the edge of his mat in quick reach in case trouble finds them.

Yusuf has also finished unpacking but instead of looking tired he appears restless. He starts pacing the small room, his fingers tapping against his leg as his facial expressions shift so fast it’s hard for Nicoló to keep track. He seems to decide on something though as he stops pacing and looks to the door. Nicoló opens his mouth to question Yusuf’s behavior but before he can, Yusuf speaks, “I’ll be back.” He’s not facing Nicoló but from his vantage point spread out on his sleeping mat on the floor, propped up by one elbow, Nicoló can see him glancing to the side trying to gauge his friend’s reaction to his statement. Nicoló just nods. It seems that’s all Yusuf needs for he is out the door in two steps.

Nicoló watches the door swing shut with a sinking feeling in his heart. He’s not sure why but it’s there all the same. He knows Yusuf will come back. He’d said he would and Nicoló had no reason to doubt him. And yet there was… something. 

He pushes it away for now and finds himself looking to the open window, as if he can still see Yusuf framed there. He tears his gaze away, berating himself for missing someone who’s just left. As he lowers himself off his elbow and lays back he’s left staring at the plain ceiling, and he can’t help it when his thoughts drift to a few weeks before, the memories fresh in his head.

«««»»»

They had been walking side by side, sweat slick on their skin, their hair sticking to their foreheads, the heat almost unbearable. The sun danced in and out of clouds and they sometimes thought they could see water droplets forming in the air. It was so heavy, weighing them down as they plodded on. Despite this, Nicoló had broken the comfortable silence with a comment about Yusuf getting too used to the dry heat of Jerusalem to handle this weather and Yusuf had laughed loudly. Nicoló’s joy at making him laugh meant he almost missed it as Yusuf stumbled over a rock. Yusuf’s hand had shot out automatically and latched onto Nicoló’s shoulder to prevent his fall. Nicoló stopped to help him but Yusuf brushed him off and just squeezed his shoulder before letting go. His hand brushed Nicoló’s as he dropped his arm, lingering for a moment before he smiled and continued on, teasing Nicoló about something else. But Nicoló had lost the thread of the conversation. He started walking again, nodding along to whatever Yusuf was saying but his head was full of other thoughts not centered on their current conversation.

This wasn’t the first time Yusuf had touched him like this. Nicoló began shifting through the memories in his head. Yusuf had begun sitting closer over the years, especially when they lit a fire at night, alone for miles, their thighs sometimes brushing. Nicky felt those touches through the layers of his clothes and into his bones. And he found his fingers lingering on Yusuf’s when they touched as he handed over his sword to be sharpened. They had quickly discovered that Yusuf was much better at it than Nicoló. He applied the same concentration to it that he did his sketches in the dirt and sometimes, on rare occasions, while he worked he would hum a tune or even sing softly in Arabic. It was not polished or for performing but Nicoló found he would choose to listen to him for the rest of his very long life if given the chance. And Yusuf would often clap him on the shoulder when he made a joke or ruffle Nicoló’s hair when Nicoló reminded him to drink water. (He’d often laugh that comment off with an ‘I’m immortal! What do I need water for?’ To which Nicoló responded only with a glare until Yusuf conceded that he did still need water if he didn’t wish to die a most painful death.)

«««»»»

So no the touches and the closeness are not new but maybe it’s too much. No… No that’s not what it is. 

Maybe it’s not enough.

He blinks, the ceiling coming back into focus. He’s struck by the hilarity of that statement. Why would he want more? And yet… It rings true.

He doesn’t want to wait for the scant touches, the brush of fingers and thighs. He wants Yusuf’s hands in his. He wants to feel Yusuf’s curls between his fingers. He wants to feel his lips pressed against his own. He wants to touch Yusuf’s chest, right where he once stabbed him. He wants to reassure him: never again. He wants… He wants…

He wants Yusuf. In whatever form that takes. If it means spending eternity waiting for those brief touches he will live for them and learn to be satisfied.

That realization is a shock to his system as his brain tries to process the depth of his feelings. He pauses briefly at the teachings of the priesthood. But he quickly discards them. The Nicoló that trusted in them died in front of the gates of Jerusalem at the hands of the man he now realizes he has been willing to do anything for, almost since the moment they stopped fighting. Besides, Nicoló lost faith in the Church, if not his god, when he realized he had been sent to kill innocents and die in a pointless and cruel war. 

Yusuf’s presence has upended his life. He has somehow torn it all apart and built it back up again with himself above everything else. And Nicoló’s last realization before sleep calls to him is that he would not have it any other way.

He floats into dreams of an enemy who is no longer an enemy and two women who have all that he has ever hoped for.

«««»»

Nicoló is woken by the banging of the door against the wall as it’s slammed open. At first he thinks it’s Yusuf returning but in two seconds he can tell there is more than one person and none of them are Yusuf. His dagger is in his hand as soon as the man in front moves towards the other side of the room. In the back of his head, he registers Yusuf slowly groaning awake, but he’s already moving towards the men. There are four of them. He can see the glint of knives in the moonlight, casting shadows through the open window. 

Everything moves in slow motion. He’s rushing forward, dagger raised high, but he’s too far away to stop the first man from hurling a knife in Yusuf’s direction. It whistles through the air and there’s a grunt from behind him as it strikes its target. But he knows the fastest way to Yusuf is by dispatching these unknown foes. 

The man who dared to throw the knife is dead as soon as it leaves his fingers, a clean slice across his throat. Nicoló ducks under the second’s arm and slashes him in the gut, using the momentum of the man to push his quickly collapsing body into one of his companions. That man is soon missing a hand and he immediately turns and flees, the final assailant right behind him. Nicoló allows himself a moment to make sure they aren’t coming back and then turns to Yusuf. It can’t have been more than thirty seconds since the knife struck home.

He is kneeling beside Yusuf in a moment, his dagger abandoned near his knees, uncaring of the bodies he stepped over to get there nor the blood staining the sleeves of his tunic. Yusuf is sitting up, his scimitar in his hands, unused. He drops it to grab at the dagger embedded in his shoulder. Nicoló pulls his hand away and grabs the hilt himself. He wrenches it out quickly. Yusuf does no more than grimace and puts a hand up to try to slow the bleeding as it heals. 

Nicoló sighs, the tension draining from his body as he allows the bloody dagger to clatter to the floor. For a moment there is no sound except both of their heavy breathing to fill the silence. Then Nicoló speaks, “Why did you not take it out earlier?”

He knows Yusuf understands what he means. Why was that not the first thing he did after it struck him? The sooner it’s out, the sooner his skin can stitch itself back together. 

Yusuf just looks away, his hand falling away from his newly healed shoulder, still coated in blood. “I was distracted,” is his only response. Nicoló isn’t sure what that means but he isn’t going to argue it. Not here. Not now.

Instead he moves to the other side of the room and starts gathering his things. Yusuf doesn’t move. Once he has hefted them all up in one arm he grabs the corner of his sleeping mat and drags it over. He lays it between Yusuf and the door. The bodies are still in the corner but they’ll deal with those in a few hours. Nicoló intends to spend those hours sleeping and this is the only way he can have peace of mind doing that. He begins to place his things down again.

Apparently it’s at this moment that Yusuf catches onto what his intention is. “I don’t need you to defend me Nicoló.”

“Oh really? So that’s why it took you so long to wake up then?”

“Don’t forget who killed you!”

“I could say the same.”

They’re both glaring at each other, Yusuf seated, legs crossed and Nicoló sitting back on his heels. The tension pulses in the silence with each breath.

Nicoló is the first to break it. “Aghfir li, Yusuf. I did not mean that. I…”

Yusuf laughs but it is almost cruel, “Did not mean what? That I was inferior, in need of your protection?”

“No of course not!” Nicoló sighs. Words are Yusuf’s gift, not his. “No, I was just… scared.”

Yusuf cocks his head, curls falling across his forehead, but does not answer, waiting for Nicoló to finish.

“I was scared…” his voice dips in volume as he licks his dry lips, “to lose you.” Yusuf opens his mouth to speak but Nicoló shakes his head and continues. He can’t stop now that he’s started or he’ll never start again. “I’m sorry. I only wished to put myself between you and harm. It is no insult to your skill.” At this he reaches for the tear in Yusuf’s shirt where the red-stained but unblemished skin peeks out. His hand, still bloody, hovers over it. Wanting to touch, but not daring to. 

Suddenly, Yusuf’s shoulder has shifted, meeting his hand where it waits. He slowly, shakily traces a finger over where the wound would have been. Still Yusuf doesn’t speak. “I wanted it to be me instead.” He doesn’t meet Yusuf’s eyes. He can’t. He exhales sharply.

Nicoló’s hand is still resting on Yusuf’s shoulder when Yusuf finally speaks, “What about the ‘taking a long time to wake up’ comment?”

Nicoló rushes to explain, “It’s not a bad thing. It’s just…” before he hears quiet laughter and looks up at Yusuf, realizing he’s teasing. He finishes anyway, “you.” 

Yusuf’s laughter cuts off and he seems to contemplate for a moment before he leans forward slightly. “And is that a good thing?”

Nicoló leans forward too, “Of course,” he smirks. Yusuf, it seems, had expected that Nicoló would back down. 

This only makes Nicoló smile more and he decides he’s tired of being the timid one, and sends a prayer up to a god he believes in but isn’t sure is listening that he hasn’t been reading the last seven years wrong. He moves his hand from where it’s resting on Yusuf’s shoulder and brings it up to cup Yusuf’s cheek. He doesn’t flinch or move back. In fact, he closes his eyes and smiles wide. Nicoló wants to be able to make him smile like that for the rest of time. 

And then he’s kissing him.

Yusuf’s lips are warm against his and he’s breathless as he tangles his other hand in Yusuf’s curls like he’s always wanted to. Yusuf’s hand comes up to wrap around Nicoló’s waist and he has never been happier.

They break apart. And they’re smiling. And then they’re laughing. And Nicoló knows he’s blushing but so is Yusuf. And he realizes he’s wanted to do that for years. And Yusuf is so beautiful with the moonlight reflected in his eyes and his lips pink from their kiss. 

Nicoló realizes he’s just staring. But so is Yusuf. Yusuf turns his head to place a kiss on Nicoló’s palm pressed against his cheek and turns back grinning.

Somehow he ends up curled in Yusuf’s arms after a few more shared kisses. Yusuf whispers in his ear, “I’ll let you sleep between the door and me if I get to hold you like this,” and presses his lips to Nicoló’s hair. 

Nicoló smiles even though he knows Yusuf can’t see it. “I think I can live with that.” Protecting Yusuf while being wrapped in his arms is all Nicoló can ever remember wanting. He laces his fingers with Yusuf’s.

Yusuf is pressing soft kisses to his throat when Nicoló remembers how all of this came about, “Wait. Where did you go earlier? And did it have anything to do with the men who just decided to attack us?”

Even though he can’t see Yusuf’s face, he can feel his grimace. “Ah yeah. I was hoping you wouldn’t ask about that.”

“How stupid do you think I am? Wait don’t answer that.” 

Yusuf lets out a quiet laugh. “Well, you see, I haven’t been able to draw, and no I don’t mean sketching in the sand with a stick.” He says before Nicoló opens his mouth. So instead, Nicoló settles for a smile at how well Yusuf knows him. “I mean real drawings, on paper. It’s been so long… So I left last night to buy a sketchbook and some charcoal.”

“I still don’t see what this has to do with the guys attacking us.”

“Shh. I’m getting there,” he laughs. “After I bought my supplies, I may have seen a group of guys trying to rob a young boy so I may have scared them off, but then they may have followed me back and waited to try and kill us and steal our stuff… Haha?” 

He winces when Nicoló smacks his arm. “They followed you here?”

“I said maybe,” but he’s smiling and so is Nicoló and they both know it. What else are they supposed to be doing when they’ve finally gotten everything they’ve ever wanted or will ever need?

«««»»»

Nicoló is packing up their bags while Yusuf disposes of the bodies when he stumbles across it. He can’t deny he’s curious so he flips the sketchbook open to the first page. There, in dark charcoal, is a stunning likeness of Nicoló himself, asleep, right where he was when Yusuf first came back with the sketchbook. He stares at it for a moment, marvelling at Yusuf’s skill before he tucks it back in Yusuf’s bag, grinning wildly. When Yusuf comes back up the stairs and asks what he’s smiling about he replies “nothing” but he pulls Yusuf in for a kiss and then walks out leaving Yusuf frozen with an equally wide smile on his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations from Arabic:  
> Aghfir li = Forgive me


	4. some of us love you, it’s not much but there’s proof

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a pretty big time jump from the last one to this one. Also sorry for any historical errors. This one is a shameless excuse to write fluff. There should be a little more angst in the next one if that's more your cup of tea. All Arabic and Italian taken from google translate so sorry for any errors. Translations at the end. Hope you guys like it!

1487 CE

He wakes warm and safe, pressed against Yusuf’s chest, wrapped in his arms. There’s rarely a day when he doesn’t wake like this, but still he treasures each morning as much as the first, so long ago. For a moment, he stays still listening to the birds sing to each other and the wind whistling through the trees that encircle their accommodations in a friend’s villa in Florence. Andy and Quyhn have left to travel north, leaving him to relax in the arms of his lover. A cool morning breeze follows the sunlight streaming through the many windows and ruffles Nicoló’s hair. He loves the warmth of Florence, in its weather and people, would spend years here if he could.

He turns in Yusuf’s arms so he can see him. Yusuf only adjusts his arms around Nicoló and sighs. Nicoló smiles. He could watch Yusuf sleep all day. 

He raises a hand to trace Yusuf’s features. His fingers ghost over Yusuf’s closed eyelids and the bridge of his nose before he lays his palm on Yusuf’s cheek, his thumb resting on pink lips. Yusuf doesn’t stir. Nicoló’s smile widens. Yusuf being a heavy sleeper has its advantages.

It also makes for great surprises. 

Nicoló slips out of Yusuf’s arms and slides out of bed reaching for one of his spare tunics slung over a chair. He watches Yusuf pull one of their pillows into his arms with a grimace on his face as he attempts to block the sunlight newly revealed in Nicoló’s absence. Nicoló laughs quietly at what his love will do to remain asleep as he buttons up his overcoat and reaches for his empty bag, slinging it over his shoulder. He’s asked their friend’s servants not to wake them today so he has about an hour before Yusuf will begin stirring.

Nicoló adjusts the blanket, pulling it over Yusuf’s shoulders and makes his way to the door. He opens it, looking back once more at Yusuf’s sleeping form, more relaxed than Nicoló almost ever sees him awake. Nicoló pulls the door closed with a quiet click, smiling softly.

«««»»»

Nicoló slides quickly back into the room, a plate of pastries in one hand and his bag in the other. He isn’t surprised to see Yusuf in the same position as he left him, and yet he is left to marvel at Yusuf’s ability to ignore the sun, almost demanding to be seen as its light pours through the open windows.

Even after almost 500 years by his side, he’s not sure he understands. He can’t imagine not rising with the sun, living life under a blue sky. But maybe Yusuf is living in a different way. For he has seen the way Yusuf’s eyes light up under the stars, how he stays up late reading to sleeping cities, how he pulls Nicoló by the hand through side streets when they explore under a darkening sky. He has seen how Yusuf loves the night.

He thinks maybe that is why Yusuf compares him to the moon.

He pulls himself from his musings and steps across the tiled floor. He hangs his bag over the back of the chair and with his now free hand, pulls open the shuttered entrance to their private patio. He sets the plate down on the empty table there and admires the view into the garden, green and bursting with life in the morning air. Bees and butterflies float between bright yellow and orange flowers, sometimes alighting on them for a moment before moving on. He is reminded of their own travels, never staying one place long for fear of discovery.

He shakes his head. Now is not the time for those thoughts. He swiftly abandons the view for the more beautiful one waiting behind him in their bed. 

He crosses the room in purposeful but unhurried steps, and reaches out to shake Yusuf’s shoulder but he pauses, hand hovering, so close he can feel the heat of Yusuf’s bare skin radiating against his palm. He slowly retracts his hand. He allows himself another moment to just gaze at the love of all his lives.

Yusuf loves Florence. Art has become part of its culture and Nicoló has watched his lover thrive in the city, drawing and painting whenever he can. He’s spent hours discussing techniques for oils with other artists that Nicoló cannot begin to understand. Nicoló’s knowledge of art is minimal but he loves seeing Yusuf happy and he appreciates the art he sees (never as much as he loves Yusuf’s art though). He’s just never seen the appeal of laboring over something for weeks, months, years even, that people may not appreciate. 

He’s never understood Yusuf’s desire to draw and create things that no one will ever see besides himself and Nicoló.

At least not until now. 

If he was able, he thinks he would paint this scene a million times, in a million ways, just for him to remember. Yusuf’s fingers resting atop the pillow, the sunlight dancing across his eyelids, the way his curls fall onto his forehead as he shifts in restless dreams. 

Alas, he has no talent for that type of art and so he has settled for baking pastries in the servant’s kitchen. 

This time he does shake Yusuf’s shoulder. “Destati amore.” He receives no response. So he ruffles Yusuf’s hair but that only results in Yusuf groaning and rolling over so his back is to Nicoló. Nicoló laughs at that. “You’ve slept in longer than the entire city.” No response. “I know you’re awake.” 

“Hhmph.”

Nicoló smiles and decides more persuasive tactics are needed. He pulls the blanket from Yusuf’s shoulders to his feet and still Yusuf remains stubbornly curled up. Nicoló sighs and begins tracing his finger up and down Yusuf’s bare back. He feels the man shiver under his touch and he grins, leaning forward to place a kiss to the nape of Yusuf’s neck. He moves his hand to rest on top of Yusuf’s dark curls, tugging slightly, as he peppers kisses to his neck. 

Yusuf is instantly facing him as he presses his lips to Nicoló’s with a moan. Nicoló allows it for a moment but then he’s pulling back and stepping away from the bed.Yusuf lets out a whine and pouts as he reaches for Nicoló. Nicoló only grins and turns to grab his bag from the chair. “I knew you were awake.”

“That’s not fair. You play dirty.” he says lying back on the bed.

Nicoló laughs and sets the bag by the plate of warm pastries, “Come. Your breakfast is getting cold.”

Yusuf perks up at that, “What is it today?” he asks as he moves to sit on the edge of the bed, arms outstretched above him as he yawns, and then moves to pull on his pants from where they lay in a heap on the floor. 

“Come see for yourself.”

“Fine,” but Yusuf’s smiling as he moves onto the patio, squinting at the sun, as if insulted that it dares to shine so bright. He ignores the garden and instead steps up behind Nicoló and wraps his arms around his waist, pressing a kiss to his cheek. His warmth wrapped around Nicoló is a welcome familiarity but Nicoló doesn’t want his surprise to go to waste. He turns and quickly pecks Yusuf on the lips before pulling away and gesturing to one of the chairs for Yusuf to sit.

Yusuf huffs but sits. His eyes don’t leave Nicoló as he takes the other chair. Nicoló has to gesture at the plate before Yusuf looks down. 

It’s all worth it though when he sees Yusuf’s eyes widen. “This… this is… bambalouni.” He looks up at Nicoló, surprise written clearly on his face. “Where did you find it?”

“I uh.. I made it.”

“You-” he shakes his head, smiling now, “You made it?”

“Well, I’d heard you mention it and I thought it’d be a nice reminder of home.” Nicoló shrugs but he’s smiling too. “Now, try it already.”

Yusuf laughs and picks one up. He takes a bite and his eyes flutter shut. “Mmmm, perfect, habibi.” He opens his eyes and meets Nicoló’s, setting the pastry down, as he stands and walks around the table. He takes Nicoló’s hand and pulls him up so they’re standing toe to toe, chests pressed together, fingers interlaced. “Shukraan lak habibatana. You are my home now and that will always be enough for me... but that you care enough to make this…” He places a kiss on Nicoló’s forehead. “There are no words in any language I know to thank you.”

Nicoló leans forward and shares a chaste kiss before stepping back and grabbing the bag resting on the table. “I also grabbed these while I was out.” Yusuf takes it from him, curious, and pulls out new charcoal, the kind he uses for sketching. He looks up, incredulous. “I knew you were running low and I was already buying ingredients so I just bought them.” Yusuf is just staring at him. Nicoló shifts from foot to foot. “What?”

“What did I ever do to deserve you?” He says, shaking his head.

“Well, you killed me a dozen times, so I think that makes me your problem.” Nicoló jokes, and Yusuf laughs, loudly and freely. Nicoló thinks he would destroy the world for that laugh. 

No. He knows he would. 

“Your kindness is insufferable, you know that right?” Yusuf says, stepping forward again, pressing as close as he can to Nicoló.

Nicoló wraps his arms around Yusuf’s neck and kisses him. “You love me though.”

In between kisses, Yusuf manages “That I do, amore.” They’re smiling and laughing as they bump the table. And then they’re stumbling back towards the bed. Maybe a day spent in bed isn’t that bad. As long as it’s with Yusuf.

Nicoló knows he loves the morning sun but nothing can compare to revolving around Yusuf and basking in his light. His smile is the purest form of life. And isn’t that all art is? Life? 

Nicoló grins. If so, maybe he knows more of art than he thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bambalouni is a Tunisian donut and since Yusuf is from the Maghreb area I used it in the story. I have no idea if it existed at this time or if he would know what it is but I needed something so I hope it works.
> 
> Translations from Italian:  
> Destati amore (old Italian) = Wake up, love  
> Amore = love
> 
> Translations from Arabic:  
> Habibi = my love  
> Shukraan lak habibatana = thank you my love


	5. remember the pact of our youth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All Arabic and Italian taken from google translate so sorry for any errors. Translations at the end. Hope you guys like it!

2021 CE

Everyone has apparently decided they’re bored. Andy keeps sharpening every weapon they seem to own. And Nile insists that ‘there has to be something good on’ and continues to flip through channels, changing her position on the couch every two minutes, as she waits for her weekly face time with Booker. Normally, Nicky would settle down with a book, but he can’t seem to process anything on the page, even though it’s in Italian, still his favorite language to read after all these years. He sighs, and closes the old book softly. It’s just one of those days. Joe is sitting on the couch near Nile, exclaiming every time she circles past the soccer game. She just smiles and flips past it as Joe groans and Andy teases him for caring so much. 

Nicky smiles softly. He would not trade his family for anything. Although, some days it seems something’s missing. Or rather someone.

As if Joe senses his restlessness, he turns, throwing an arm across the back of the couch and meeting Nicky’s eyes. He tilts his head in a silent question. Nicky dips his head in quiet agreement. That’s all the answer Joe needs as he stands swiftly, tapping the top of Nile’s foot where it rests on the top of the couch. She looks up at him from her position upside down and he laughs at the confusion on her face. “Nicky and I are going for a walk,” he announces. Andy nods and continues sharpening some random sword that had been tucked in some room of the safe house for years. 

Nile tries to nod but it doesn’t quite work because her head is hovering an inch from the floor, “ow,” she mutters as her head knocks the wood.

The other three immortals all share glances and grins.

“When will you be back?” Andy questions, looking back down at the sword in her lap.

“Soon,” is all Joe says as he reaches for Nicky’s hand. Nicky gladly gives it and follows Joe to the door. As Joe reaches for their coats, they hear Andy say from the other room, “Have you checked the time recently Nile?”

There’s a pause, presumably as Nile attempts to read the clock upside down. They all know when she figures it out because there’s a loud “Shit!” and a thump as she then proceeds to fall off the couch in her haste to reach her phone so she doesn’t miss Booker’s call. Joe laughs and they can hear Andy do the same as Joe opens the door. Nicky smiles wide. Nile may be clumsy sometimes but she’s filled a hole in their family they didn’t know they had.

Joe holds the door and gestures for Nicky to exit first. “Such a gentleman,” Nicky smirks as he passes. The air is cold and he shivers slightly, even under his coat. Berlin in winter is the coldest place they’ve stayed in years.

“I try,” Joe smiles as he shuts the door behind them and locks it. 

“I remember a time when you were not quite as… gentlemanly,” Nicky teases even as he reaches for Joe’s hand and they start walking down the street, pressed close together to conserve heat.

“From what I recall, you started that.”

“Really? That’s not what I remember.”

“You insult me, sir!” Nicky beams and grabs Joe by the jacket, stopping them in their tracks in the middle of the sidewalk and pulling him in for a kiss. One of Joe’s hands, the one that had not been clasped in Nicky’s, is cold against his cheek as Joe deepens the kiss. Nicky is aware the neighbors are probably disapproving of their very public display of affection but he’s been alive too long to care. 

There’s a beeping coming from the street behind him. Maybe it’s a car alarm or the neighbors across the street. He doesn’t care, not when Joe’s lips are hot against his, the cold making Joe warmer against him as he wraps his arms around Joe’s waist. And then Joe’s pulling back and squinting behind him. Nicky just wants to kiss him again. He starts to lean forward but then Joe’s eyes are widening and he’s spinning, pushing Nicky in the direction of the house behind him, putting his body between Nicky and the street. Nicky’s confused and the world is spinning and what is Joe doing?

He doesn’t have long to wonder. As soon as Joe lets go of his hand the world explodes in flames.

«««»»»

He can’t hear. Everything is a swirl of smoke and fire and metal. There’s a pounding in his ears. He pushes himself up off the cement, trying to figure out where he is. There’s people swirling around him, his vision blurry. Something sticky is leaking from his ears. He puts a hand up to it and it comes away red. That seems to jolt something in him and awareness starts to bleed back in.

Joe. Where is Joe? Joe who had realized before Nicky what was happening, who had shoved him away, taking the brunt of the explosion.

He turns rapidly, ignoring how that amplifies the pain in his head. He has survived worse and it will be gone in a moment. No sooner does he think that, than the pain starts fading. 

His eyes catch on the flaming wreckage of the car that was parked behind them on the street. He scrambles to the pile of metal, ignoring the neighbors gathering around the scene. Some of them have undoubtedly called the police. He needs to find Joe and get them out of there. The people who detonated the bomb are sure to still be around too and he doesn’t need a repeat of the lab last year.

There. There he is. 

Joe’s unconscious or dead, trapped under a pile of metal. Nicky doesn’t want to think about which one it is as he starts pulling the scraps away from Joe, ignoring the burns on his hand from the still smoking metal. There’s people talking and someone tries to pull him away but he elbows them and then he is left alone to claw at the wreckage. It doesn’t take long. There’s no amount of metal or any other substance that can keep him from Joe. There’s shrapnel embedded in Joe’s side as he grabs him under the arms and tugs, slowly but surely, moving him away from the fire.

And then Nile is at his elbow, helping him, and he remembers they hadn’t even made it that far from the safe house. He glances around quickly, not wanting to take his eyes off Joe but needing to make sure Andy, with her relatively new mortality is nearby and okay. Sure enough, Andy is standing behind them, flashing a very fake badge to the fairly large crowd that has gathered, and loudly telling them to disperse. She meets Nicky’s eyes and nods toward their car parked four houses down. He nods and turns back to Joe. 

He quickly grabs for the metal in Joe’s stomach currently preventing any healing and jerks it out without any preamble. Blood starts to flow from the now open wound, soaking Nicky’s hands. 

He takes a moment to cup Joe’s face, uncaring of the blood, and touch their foreheads together, eyes closed. 

As soon as he opens them and pulls away his face is emotionless. He nods to Nile, also unsmiling, and they each grab one of Joe’s arms, hefting him up and slinging his arms over their shoulders. Nile staggers a little under his weight but quickly regains her balance and they stumble their way to the car, Andy covering them and directing everyone away. 

They make it to the car with minimal incident and Andy quickly unlocks it and slides into the driver’s seat, starting the engine and then gets out again to help with Joe’s still limp body. Nicky slides in the backseat first and then Nile and Andy lower Joe in, his head resting in Nicky’s lap. Nile closes the door, conscious of Joe’s feet and then she’s sliding into the passenger seat next to Andy and they’re speeding down the street. Nicky sees the smoldering car as a flash of red and grey through the window, Andy never obeys speed limits but it seems today she’s going even faster than normal. Nicky understands the urge as he looks down at Joe’s still face.

“‘Aeud alhabu.” He brushes his red-stained fingers through Joe’s curls. It’s not the first time either of them have died for the other and Nicky’s sure it won’t be the last.

That doesn’t make it easier. It might make it worse. He doesn’t know. He doesn’t know anything without Joe.

He cups Joe’s cheek and rests his forehead against Joe’s. “ti prego amore,” he pleads. “You promised.”

He can hear Nile shift uncomfortably in the front seat but he doesn’t care. He only wants Yusuf.

He doesn’t know how long he stays like that, forehead pressed to Joe’s. His back starts to cramp but he refuses to move. He can’t.

Everything is silent except the hum of the engine as Andy pushes the car faster. No one dares to voice what they’re all thinking. He knows Nile is glancing back at them. He still doesn’t dare stir. He foolishly hopes his touch is somehow tethering Joe to this world and if he were to move…

Andy tries reasoning as she finally speaks, “Nicky-”

“No.”

And that is the end of the conversation.

They continue on. Nicky doesn’t know where they’re going. He knows they left most of their belongings back at the safe house. They’ll have to go back sometime in the following days to collect everything, make sure there’s no trace of them left. But not now. Not now. He can’t bring himself to care about any of it. About his torn and bloody clothes, dirt streaking his face. About Nile’s teary eyes as she glances at them. About Andy’s telling silence. In that moment he hates them. How dare they think that Joe is… is…

And then Joe’s chest is moving under him, as he sucks in a breath and coughs, his back arching up as his side stitches together. He hears Nile’s laughter and Andy’s sigh and he curses his brain for being unfair to them. But that’s the last thought he can spare for anything other than Joe.

Joe, who is moving and blinking up at him, reaching to wipe away the tears he didn’t know had slipped from his eyes. He doesn’t know who moves first, but then they’re kissing, hurried and searching. Searching for life and comfort. Maybe they’re the same thing.

Then Nicky’s pulling back and he’s almost shaking. Joe is safe and now he can feel again. The emotions rush through his brain: relief, anger, worry and unwanted reminders of memories he had thought long buried. He settles on anger instead. His hand doesn’t leave Joe’s cheek as he starts speaking, so soft it can only mean danger, “How dare you?” he hisses and Joe winces. 

“Nicoló-”

“No, how dare you make that choice for me? Do you know how long I waited?” he chokes out, closing his eyes against the love written across Joe’s face.

“I will not say I am sorry habibi. I would make that choice again and again.” He reaches for Nicky’s face, turning it back to him, “As would you if you had known.”

Nicky doesn’t try to deny it. Just leans in, sliding his hand down Joe’s cheek to rest on his pulse point, assuring himself of the blood pumping in Joe’s veins. “I thought I’d lost you,” he whispers in their own mix of Arabic and Italian.

Joe just brushes Nicky’s hair from his face and replies in the same mix, that has long since become their language, “I know. But I am here. We are alive, Nicoló. I promised I would not leave you.”

“You cannot promise-”

Joe just smiles his cockiest smile, “But I did promise.” 

Nicky’s mouth twitches up at the corner and he smacks Joe’s arm. “I have not forgiven you yet.”

Joe pushes himself up to sit next to Nicky, his side fully healed, and pouts. “Can I make it up to you?” His hand edges towards the hem of Nicky’s shirt and slides underneath, resting on the planes of Nicky’s stomach.

Andy takes that as her cue to interrupt, “Hey!” Nile looks back curiously. Only Andy could have possibly understood anything they were saying but Nile quickly catches on as she glances into the backseat. Andy yelling, “No sex in my car!” helps too, Nicky’s sure.

Joe withdraws his hand at Nile’s laughter. “We would never!” he says, putting on a mock offended face. 

“You would and you have,” she argues back. Nile takes one look at Andy’s solemn features and doubles over laughing in her seat. Nicky shakes his head and laughs too at Joe’s slightly proud face. Even Andy cracks a smile.

“Just don’t do that again,” Nicky whispers once the laughter has died down and Andy’s regaling Nile with stories of times over the years she’s walked in on the couple in the backseat.

“No promises,” Joe answers, but upon seeing Nicky’s pleading face he amends, “I’ll try.”

Nicky is satisfied for the time being. He knows, as he rests his head on Joe’s shoulder, that he cannot expect Joe to promise something he himself would not promise. 

They can and will worry about who found them later. NIcky will have his revenge on whoever dared hurt Joe. But for now, they are all safe. They are all alive.

As Andy and Nile’s chatter fills the car, Joe rests his head on top of Nicky’s and Nicky can see through the rearview mirror Joe’s eyes slip shut, his face peaceful in sleep. So similar and yet opposite of his face in death. 

Joe takes his time in waking from death the same as he does from sleep. Yet, Nicky knows he would watch one for the rest of his life and one he wishes never to see again. He knows it is a futile wish. 

And yet, as he too is lulled to sleep by the safety of his family, he thinks maybe… maybe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations from Arabic:  
> ‘Aeud alhabu = come back love  
> Habibi = my love
> 
> Translations from Italian:  
> ti prego amore = please love
> 
> I really enjoyed writing their family dynamic in this one. They're just so fun! Well, only one more chapter left guys!


	6. how the most dangerous thing is to love, how you will heal and you'll rise above, crowned by an overture bold and beyond, it's more courageous to overcome

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well here it is guys: last chapter! Sorry for the delay. School's starting and I lost motivation for awhile. This was written really quickly cause I wanted to get it posted but I'm not quite happy with it. Oh well. All Arabic and Italian taken from google translate so sorry for any errors. Translations at the end. Hope you guys like it!

2027 CE

Joe shoots up gasping for breath. 

Nicky is wide awake in an instant, reaching for his gun and scanning the room all in a second. There is nothing and no one, just tendrils of moonlight stretching out from behind closed curtains. They reach towards Joe’s face, caressing his cheeks like Nicky is so often wont to do.

Joe doesn’t acknowledge the scant light falling across his face. He sits, legs tangled in sheets, breathing heavily, and stares emptily at the wall. Sweat beads on his brow, despite the cool air from the old but functional air conditioner Nile had insisted they install years ago.

Nicky is not unfamiliar with waking suddenly to pull Joe from the throes of his dreams. He props himself up on his elbow and reaches across the bed, sheets rustling, and his fingers wrap around Joe’s bicep. His skin is hot against Nicky’s hand and Joe jumps at the cool touch, turning his head to meet Nicky’s eyes. He shifts his body to face Nicky, and reaches for his cheek. 

His fingers meet skin and Nicky leans into his touch, eyes flickering closed. Joe sucks in a shaky breath and Nicky can see the tears gathering under Joe’s lashes reflected in the moonlight. 

His hand still wrapped around Joe’s arm begins to move up and down, tracing patterns and comforts into Joe’s skin as if by doing this he can instill them in Joe’s very being. His eyes flicker open again and meet Joe’s, who is still staring at him as if he cannot believe his eyes. Nicky kisses Joe’s palm then tilts his head, still held in Joe’s warm hand, a question in his gaze. Joe knows what it is.

Joe’s hand drifts down Nicky’s neck, caressing his collarbones, before resting on Nicky’s bare chest, right over his heart. His eyes follow, stopping on the visible rise and fall of Nicky’s chest as air fills his lungs. The eternal thump thump of Nicky’s blood in his veins echoes in Joe’s bones, grounding him. He pulls the sound, the feel, into his own veins, as if by doing this he can hold Nicky in his heart.

Joe’s eyes flit back up to Nicky’s face. Nicky waits, patient in his love. Joe utters it in one breath, “I thought I lost you.”

Nicky’s eyes widen almost imperceptibly and his hand stills on Joe’s arm. Joe’s had this one before, more often since the lab all those years ago. But they’d just returned from a mission and Nicky had died more than a few times.

He just nods, sitting up. Joe’s hand doesn’t leave his chest. He presses Joe’s forehead to his own, barely noticing the warmth and sweat of Joe’s skin, and moves his hand to cover Joe’s above his heart.

He presses down, feeling the beat of his own heart through Joe’s hand. He knows Joe needs the physical reassurance and proof of the life thrumming in his veins. “‘Ana huna,” he whispers into the almost-silence.

Joe nods. “‘aelam ‘aelam ‘aelam.” And he does know. He does. He always has. But sometimes… Sometimes it doesn’t click once he wakes from dreams of terror and grief. The loss clings to him like a coat he can’t take off, too real to just brush off.

Nicky sees the emotions painted so clearly on Joe’s face, as if Joe himself had sketched them into existence. Nicky loves him for it. Has always loved him for it.

Nicky doesn’t know how long they sit, the thrum of the air conditioner mingling with their breath. But then Joe shudders and pulls his hand from Nicky. It drops to the rumpled sheets in the gap between them. Joe’s gaze follows it and lingers on the divide. 

Nicky can see the urge to apologize for his dream in Joe’s eyes as he turns away. This situation has occurred often enough that Nicky’s made it clear Joe doesn’t ever have to say sorry. And he knows Joe knows it, knows Nicky would do anything for him, but it still pulls at Joe.

Nicky grabs Joe’s hand before he can withdraw. Joe’s fingers curl around Nicky’s subconsciously, a reflex, learned over centuries spent together. Doesn’t he know how much Nicky admires him? For everything, but especially for his emotion. Nicky feels, of course he does. But he’s never been one for expressing it in words and even his actions are subtle. Joe’s emotions are open and full. They explode and color the world bright.

Joe looks back at Nicky and stills, caught in his gaze. Nicky speaks then in their blend of language all their own, “Yusuf, do not let this dampen your light.”

“I can’t stop feeling the grief… the uncertainty. Even when I wake up,” he sighs, looking down, “I wish it would stop.”

Nicky reaches for his cheek, mirroring Joe’s action earlier, and tilts Joe’s face back up. The cool air swirls around them, waiting. “You feel everything. So deeply, Yusuf. Your joy is all-consuming. And it consumes those surrounding you. You are quick to anger. But quicker to forgive. It is such a gift. But does it not also mean that you must feel the sorrow just as deeply? Sadness makes happiness that much brighter in comparison.”

Nicky’s hand slides around to grip Joe by the back of the neck. “So feel it… Feel it, Yusuf.”

His hand drops to his lap, but his eyes don’t leave Yusuf’s. “And then let it go.”

Joe blinks and his eyes are clearer than they’ve been since he awoke in grief. “I don’t know if I can.”

“Promise me you’ll try.”

Joe sighs and tension seeps from his shoulders, “Lo prometto.” 

He reaches for Nicky’s hand and interlaces their fingers. They stay that way, Nicky rubbing comforting circles into Joe’s hand, for some time. The quiet is only broken by Joe’s yawn that he tries to stifle and fails. Nicky chuckles softly and glances at the bedside clock for the first time that night: 3:46 am. He glances back at Joe, noting the dark circles under his eyes, identical to his own. They could both use some sleep. 

He grabs Joe’s shoulders and pulls them both down to the pillows. Joe snorts but doesn’t protest as Nicky pulls the sheet back over both of them. He only brings their hands back together. They lay there for a moment, facing each other. Nicky traces the lines of Joe’s face with his eyes. He’s struck by how much he prefers watching Joe slowly trail into consciousness in the late mornings, no matter how much he teases Joe for it, than he does witnessing him abruptly yanked from sleep by dreams of death. He wouldn’t trade Joe’s gradual climb from sleep for anything.

Then Joe is tugging him closer. Nicky turns over so Joe can wrap his arms around Nicky’s middle, his spine pressed close to Joe’s chest. 

Joe’s breath is soft on his ear as he breathes out, “Nicoló,” and it’s a prayer.

Nicky whispers back, “Yusuf,” and it’s an answer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations from Arabic:  
> Ana huna = I’m here  
> aelam ‘aelam ‘aelam = I know I know I know
> 
> Translations from Italian:  
> Lo prometto = I promise
> 
> Thank you everyone who read and commented. You guys are amazing!

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you guys liked it! If you did feel free to leave a comment (they make my day and inspire me to write more ;) and check me out on [tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/imadetheline)


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